


(i wish) i dreamt in the shape of your mouth

by tiffanyblews (peppermintz)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintz/pseuds/tiffanyblews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is dreaming too loudly, which is unfortunate when you're the person sleeping right above him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i wish) i dreamt in the shape of your mouth

Everything’s too hot and slightly fuzzy and all Pete knows is that he has Patrick Stump pressed against a door (a hotel room door, probably) and is listening to him whisper tiny pleas.“Pete,” Patrick whimpers quietly, curling his hand in Pete’s shirt. “I — I want you to — ”

“What is it, baby?” Pete’s apparently in a position where he can do that in between, also, pressing kisses to Patrick’s neck.

“W-want you to fuck me." Patrick’s voice is at a tight, high pitch and he sounds so needy and Pete wants to absolutely melt because of it.

"Jesus, ‘Trick,” Pete breathes, nipping at Patrick’s pulse point and drawing out a little gasp. “I so fucking will. Wanna see what you look like without all those clothes on.” 

Everything turns blurry for a few seconds — could be hours or seconds or days or minutes — and there's some indistinct voice, maybe. 

Then it grows sharp again and Pete is kissing Patrick again; that fact registers even before everything else is in focus. He's got his tongue in Patrick's mouth and his hand in Patrick's boxer shorts and, wow, holy shit, actually, Patrick must've gotten drunk or something but Pete's not complaining. 

"Fuck," Patrick gasps when Pete twists his wrist and it's the hottest thing Pete has ever heard, God.

It increases the hotness a thousand times more when Patrick practically begs, "Pete, let me touch you, please, I wanna see you — " And he shoves his hand down Pete's jeans, making everything even sharper. 

"F-fuck, 'Trick," Pete manages between his teeth, shuddering and dropping his head to Patrick's neck when Patrick smears precum with his thumb and strokes Pete's cock. 

"Wait, just — " Patrick pulls his hand off for just a moment, licks his fingers, and replaces them, which, holy fucking shit, yes. Pete moans and mouths at Patrick's neck, giving him almost-bites and licks and kisses that make Patrick whimper and sigh. 

Patrick tightens his fingers on the most blindingly pleasurable side of pain and Pete just fucking chants out Patrick's name. 

 

* * *

 

Patrick is listening to Pete have dreams and he really, really wants to die. 

It's not ambiguous as to what Pete is dreaming about. He never shuts up, has never shut the hell up, ever, for the past near-fifteen years Patrick has known him, and of course his dreams are never an exception. He always talks in his sleep. 

He doesn't often moan, though. 

And. It's not. It's not usually Patrick's name, either. 

"Fuck, oh fuck, Patrick," Pete breathes out this time, and there's some movement in the bunk below Patrick's and, oh, Jesus, the slick sounds again. 

Pete is jerking off in his sleep to a sex dream he's having about Patrick. Patrick wants to _die_ because it's kind of really fucking hot and Patrick is trying to ignore it but he _can't_ because Pete is loud and Patrick's pajama pants are protesting against his dick. 

Patrick lets out a shallow sigh and rolls over in his bunk to press his face into his pillow, twisting one hand in the sheets and willing himself to hold out at least some amount of self-control. 

He's so, so close to breaking when he hears Pete moan again, long and loud.

 

* * *

 

Pete's world is sharper than ever and Patrick Stump has his mouth on Pete's dick.

Patrick's always had a gifted mouth, sent from God and his angels, but it's even better to fuck than it is to see it sing. Pete has a handful of Patrick's pretty ginger hair, carefully not pulling (the indignation over _that_ was expressed a moment ago) and his free hand is clutching at the silk of the hotel bedspread. 

Patrick hums around Pete's cock and swallows him down, making Pete's hips jerk and forcing a groan from his lips. 

 

* * *

 

Patrick has shitty levels of self-control and willpower. 

He's curled up in his bunk now, hand having wound up in his pajama pants and he's jerking off as quietly as he can manage, tiny moans slipping out between breaths. 

He's keeping in time to Pete's sounds just below, which are getting even louder and harder to ignore.

 

* * *

 

Patrick Stump is spread out on the silk hotel bedspread, flushed pink all over, naked and panting slightly with pupils blown wide enough to nearly drown out the baby blue. His hair is a complete mess, rumpled and ruffled, his lips bruised scarlet. 

In short, he's the complete picture of beauty and sublime pornographic imagery that Pete is going to file away and label with Fondest Memories. It's right up there with argyle sweaters. 

"Pete, just fuck me already," Patrick says, almost bitchily. Definitely whiny. Pete loves it. "C'mon, I don't wanna wait anymore."

"God, you're kind of a slut for me, huh?" Pete says, grinning as he hitches Patrick's legs up higher over his own shoulders. Patrick rolls his eyes, purely bitchy now, which is wiped immediately off his face when Pete thrusts into him and those perfect, usually-pearly lips fall open in a loud gasp.  

 

* * *

 

Patrick is close to coming now and Pete is obviously, subconsciously determined to wake everyone within fifty miles of the bus. 

He hears Pete call out "'Trick, oh fuck, baby, come on" and Patrick feels his entire spine shiver like it's on fire. 

 

* * *

 

Pete is fucking Patrick hard enough so he'll feel it burn onstage tomorrow night, reminding him how much he likes this, how he loves spreading his legs for Pete, moaning and crying out and he feels so fucking tight and hot and Pete could die blissfully, right here. 

He comes so hard he nearly blacks out when Patrick drags him in by his hair for a needy kiss.  

 

* * *

 

Patrick is drowned out by Pete's sharp shout when they both end up coming; Patrick's loud sigh of Pete's name is something that also hasn't changed for nearly fifteen years as he spills white and hot and thick over his hand and the fabric of his pajama pants. 

 

* * *

 

The next time Patrick hears Pete's voice, it's at breakfast and he nearly spits his tea out when Pete mutters in his ear while passing, "I heard you after I woke up last night."

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't even well-written porn i'm sorry


End file.
